“I’ve got the baby, ma’am,” Bones said. “El’s doing CPR on the mama. The old lady’s breathing and conscious, but barely.”
“And the copilot?” she forced herself to ask. Forced herself to keep her voice empty. Forced herself not to think of his name, lest she start screaming.
Bones didn’t answer.
“Bones?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the gunner’s gravelly voice went soft, broken. “He didn’t make it.”
Mara pressed her lips together and swallowed hard.
“Roger,” she made herself say. And then she didn’t say anything more until after they landed.
* * * * *
Chapter Fifty-One
R’Bak
Mara radioed ahead. Doc Naliryiz and a team of folks wearing medical masks were waiting for them at the headlight-illuminated landing field. She maneuvered the Huey to land as softly as possible, shut it down, and then waited for all of her passengers, dead and wounded alike, to be unloaded. Then, and only then, did she unfasten her harness and ease herself out of the seat.
The adrenaline rush from the firefight had long since worn off. Fatigue pulled at the edges of her mind, crushed her body under its weight. She carefully gathered up her gear and walked slowly back through the beams of the headlights toward the operations building.
Elroy found her in the locker room, crumpled against the far wall, sobbing so hard she couldn’t breathe.
To his credit, he didn’t say anything. Instead, the MACV-SOG warrior just walked over and picked her up, cradling her close. For the second time in three nights, Mara screamed silently as a storm of rage and grief ripped through her, scouring her insides with the acid torrent of regret.
Gone.
He’s gone.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
Eventually, though, the storm quieted. Mara found herself half-lying across Elroy’s lap, his iron-hard arms holding her securely against him. She could feel his chest rumbling as he hummed a wordless tune.
“What is that?” she whispered, her words ragged and raw.
“Hmm? Oh, nothin’. Just a song my mama used to sing to us boys when we was little. ‘Specially if we had a bad dream.”
“I wish this were a bad dream,” she said.
“I know, sis. Believe me, I know.”
“He wanted to talk to me. I wouldn’t let him.”
“I know.”
“I was so angry at him. And now he’s dead. And I’ll never know what he wanted to say.”
Mara felt Elroy straighten just slightly, as if something important had just occurred to him.
“Actually,” he said slowly, “you might.”
“What?” she asked. She felt like Elroy’s words should have made her angry, but after her crying jag, she just felt empty. And exhausted.
“I forgot when I saw you on the floor, but I came in here to find you for the Doc. She said she had a message to give to you.”
“Naliryiz?”
“Yeah. I told her she should wait, but she insisted you had to come as soon as you were able.”
As soon as she was able? Mara was pretty sure that didn’t mean “after crying your eyes out for twenty minutes”—or however long it had been. But was she able now?
“I guess,” she found herself saying.
“You guess what?”
“I guess I’m able. Let’s go find the Doc.”
“You got it, sis.”
Elroy helped her to stand and finish putting her gear away, then watched her closely as she walked toward the door. Her legs shook like Jell-O at first, but eventually she steadied and moved with a reasonable fraction of her usual purpose.
It’s a good thing it’s dark, Mara thought as they stepped out of the operations building and headed toward the field hospital which had spread out from the back of the local “alchemist’s” house. I must look like reheated shit.
They found Naliryiz in the front area of the hospital, addressing several people. Mara recognized two of them as Lost Soldier medics, but the others seemed to be SpinDogs. It hadn’t been her intent to interrupt, but Naliryiz broke off as soon as she and Elroy walked into the tent.
“Mara,” the doc said, her eyes dark with sympathy. It hit Mara like a hammer blow. She knows.
She must have tensed, because Naliryiz immediately turned and dismissed the gathered medical personnel before beckoning to Mara to follow her. Elroy fell in behind them, his expression promising violence to anyone who dared to tell him otherwise.
Naliryiz preceded them down a dimly lit canvased walkway that led to the back of the alchemist’s shop. Immediately inside and to the right was a door, half ajar. Immediately across from it, almost fully hidden in shadow, a SpinDog with a weird-looking bullpup carbine eyed them dispassionately.
“We can talk in here,” said Naliryiz, gesturing toward the door. “The Matriarch may still be awake.”
Mara pushed the door open further and stepped inside, to see that the old woman was, indeed, awake and sitting up in a surprisingly advanced hospital bed. She looked up at Mara’s entrance and a strange expression—relief? satisfaction?—flickered through her eyes before fading into something that looked very much like a serene poker face.
“Have you told her?” the matriarch asked, looking behind Mara at Naliryiz.
“No, my Guild-mother,” Naliryiz said. “Not yet.”
“Told me what?” Mara asked, a shadow of impatience creeping into her exhausted tone.
“There are many things you need to know, child,” the matriarch said. “I will ask your patience so that we may explain them in such a way as to make the most sense to you.” Her words and expression were kind, but as before, Mara could feel the edge of command in the woman’s words. She wasn’t used to being gainsaid.
“First, I must ask you a question. I know that you and Ozendi coupled. Are you yet fertile? Is there a chance for a child?”
“I—what?” Mara gasped, real anger finally stirring deep within her brain.
“Mara,” Naliryiz murmured, her tone half placation, half pleading. She reached out and put a hand on Mara’s forearm. “Please. We’re not trying to hurt you.”
Mara stared at the old, battered woman lying in the hospital bed. The woman stared back, her dark eyes calm and bold and…hopeful?
It was that tiny bit of hope that did it. Mara let out a breath and felt her nascent anger slip away. “There is a chance,” she admitted. “I’m not twenty anymore, but…there is a chance.”
The matriarch closed her eyes briefly and let out a breath, murmuring soft words of thanksgiving. Then she opened her eyes and smiled a brilliant smile that made Mara’s heart ache.
It was Ozendi’s smile.
“You must understand,” the matriarch said, “forming a romantic partnership with you was never explicitly part of Ozendi’s mission. Like you and your Sko’Belm Murphy, we hoped that a strong working relationship would result, that is all. But when Ozendi contacted us and told us that he wanted to approach you about coming here he confided in me that he felt very drawn to you. He named you ‘Skydreamer,’ although that isn’t exactly right since you are not a planetary native.”
“What is a ‘Skydreamer?’” Mara asked.
“That is what we call the native people who interact with our liaisons. It gives them a measure of protection, of legal standing within both our society and theirs. You already had legal standing as our ally, so the fact that Ozendi felt it necessary to name you thus meant he wanted very much to be with you.”
“Is Iope a Skydreamer, then?” Mara said, and try as she might, she wasn’t quite able to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
The matriarch smiled, and Naliryiz came forward to take Mara’s hand.
“My brother handled this badly,” Naliryiz said, her voice soft with regret. “When you returned from the forest, he told me that he never got the chance to tell you about Iope or Diozera. Yes, Iope is a Skydreamer, and she was Ozendi’s mate a
lmost three years ago. But you have to understand, Mara, he was no longer romantically involved with her. They loved each other only as Diozera’s parents, not as partners for one another.”
Grief wrapped around Mara’s throat. “You mean—”
“My brother told me he offered to love you, and you accepted. That meant he was yours until his last breath.”
Mara bit her lip, hard enough that the copper taste of blood seeped onto her tongue.
“There is more,” the matriarch said, drawing Mara’s attention back to her. “Naliryiz says that the woman Iope is gravely injured and will likely not survive the morning. She has asked that the two of you—the two women Ozendi loved most—be allowed to take responsibility for the child Diozera. This is a lifetime commitment among our people, Mara. You must think carefully before agreeing.”
A memory flashed behind her eyes: Ozendi, explaining his people’s customs of caring for one another’s loved ones. Her eyes began to burn with regret and loss. She blinked back the tears and straightened her spine.
“I accept,” she said, forcing her voice to be as steady and strong as her raw throat would allow. “I know what it means, and I accept. Diozera will be as my own daughter.”
“And…if you are with child—”
Mara held up a hand. “Listen,” she said, “whether I’m with child or not, you need to understand one thing: I will never be parted from a child of mine again. Not ever. So, whether we’re talking about Diozera or my own hypothetical baby, that is how it is.”
The matriarch’s smile grew slightly colder, but it did grow. “That is how we feel as well. These children will form the bridge between our people, Captain. And such a bridge must be unbreakable.”
Mara stared down the old woman, willing the matriarch to see the depth of her commitment. “Matriarch and Guild-mother,” she said formally, “I give you my word as a mother. I promise to live up to my part of our agreement.” Naliryiz squeezed her hand.
The old woman spoke once more, her eyes closing. “Just as we will live up to our promises to you.”
* * * * *
Chapter Fifty-Two
Spin One
“I read the report. I’m sorry about your…your student, Captain,” Murphy said several beats after Mara finally fell silent.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, her voice empty. She felt wrung out, as if she’d just experienced it all over again. She looked down and realized that she’d placed her hand on her abdomen without meaning to do so. She forced it back down by her side.
“I seem to recall reading that the child did make it, though. I take it that’s the girl you recently brought to the Spin habitat for the first time?”
“Diozera, yes. Her mother, Iope, lived long enough to personally and formally request that we—me and Doc Naliryiz—look after her Dio.”
Murphy leaned forward, his elbows on the tabletop. Mara risked a glance up and found not his usual coldness, but something like sympathy in his striking eyes.
“That’s what you said. But why would she do that?” he asked. “You never met Dioreza’s mother before she was taken, correct?”
“That’s correct, sir,” Mara said. “But…” She trailed off, then squared her shoulders and took a deep breath before plunging on. “You’re familiar with the SpinDog concept of Skydreamers, right? The native R’Baku who interface with their liaisons? Ozendi’s mother was one. The settlement that was attacked was one of a few places planetside where the offspring of the relationships between a SpinDog liaison and the indigenous R’Baku are raised. Ozendi grew up there.”
“One of several?” Murphy asked, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. “There are so many of these children?”
“It’s not exactly encouraged,” Mara said. “But it’s not exactly discouraged either. You gotta remember, sir, these people are so very invested in their genetics, right? They know they need fresh genetic material every few generations or so to keep their bloodlines strong. And you’ve said it yourself, humans are human. Relationships are going to happen. Claiming the offspring just allows the SpinDog Guild-mothers and Breedmistresses to keep it a little more under their control.”
Murphy grew quiet, his eyes boring into hers. “That still doesn’t answer my question. Naliryiz is the child’s aunt; I understand why she was made responsible for Diozera. Why you?”
“Because,” Mara said, “her father loved me. And I’m carrying Ozendi’s child.” She lifted her chin and met his steely stare with her own. For a long moment, nothing moved. The only sound was the whoosh of air through the life-support system overhead.
“Ah,” Murphy said softly. “So, you are pregnant. I’d wondered if that was why you elected to assume a command and control role rather than fly in the assault on the transmitter.”
“That’s part of it,” Mara admitted. “The SpinDogs’ routine pathogen scan confirmed the presence of embryonic development when I returned from planetside. It’s so early I didn’t want to risk flying in combat. Although I do believe that I would be useful controlling our air assets.”
“I’m sure you will be,” Murphy said. “I would have thought that the father might be Sergeant Frazier, or even Vat, though I suppose that’s not terribly likely.”
“Vat’s a friend, and El’s my crew chief and brother, but I don’t mind if people think the baby is his. It might be easier that way.”
“Who among our people knows the child’s parentage besides myself?”
“El does,” Mara said. “That’s it.”
“And you think the Breedmistresses will try to claim your child as they do the children of the Skydreamers?”
“I do,” Mara said. “In fact, they already have. It was almost the last thing the matriarch said to me before she died. And that is why I know that they will play their part. Because I’ve made it very clear that this child is mine. If they want access to him or her they need to meet their end of any bargains they make with me and my people. You gave me this job in part because I’m good at understanding and analyzing cultures, right, sir? Well, here’s my analysis: In the eyes of the SpinDogs, when Ozendi gave me his seed, that was an irrevocable act. We’re now as married as two Mormons just leaving the Temple.”
“And so they’ll play their part.”
“They will, sir. I’ve bet the lives of both my children on it.” Once again, their gazes met, and this time, Murphy’s was the first to soften.
“All right,” he said. “I believe you. Will you reveal your unborn child’s parentage, eventually?”
“Maybe,” she said. “It’s probably inevitable. But for now, I’ll just remind anyone who asks that it’s not their fucking business…unless it is. Like with you, sir.”
“If that’s how you want to handle it,” he said. “I’d appreciate being kept apprised of your medical status, please. I realize that’s not a typical request, but you’ve managed to set yourself up as the first real bridge we have with these people, and so—”
“Understood, sir,” she said. “Both Doc Naliryiz and Doc Arthur say that everything’s just as it should be.”
He raised a single eyebrow. “How much could they know? It’s only been, what, about eight weeks?”
“It’s actually shorter, sir; those eight weeks are made up of eighteen-hour days. So more like six weeks, in terms of actual clock time. But the SpinDog Breedmistresses are way ahead of us when it comes to prenatal medicine.”
“Glad to hear that you are in such good hands,” Murphy said, sitting back in his chair. “One more thing, Bruce, before you go.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You did well on that mission. I told you that before. Under other circumstances, I would say mounting the assault so quickly was hasty. But given the tactical situation, which I didn’t fully understand at the time, you made the right call. Not just to save lives and rescue an important leader, but to demonstrate that our people were ready to risk themselves to save SpinDogs and what they hold dear. I realize you had our strategic goals in m
ind the entire time. I want you to know that I see that.”
Mara swallowed past the sudden thickness in her throat.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
“And, Mara…”
“Yes, sir?”
“I am very, very sorry for your loss.”
Mara inhaled through her nose and fought to keep her hands by her sides. Grief welled up inside her, threatened to come crashing down like a tsunami. She pressed her lips together and pushed it back—not forever, just temporarily. She gave Murphy a soft smile and got to her feet.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I appreciate that, too.”
“You haven’t taken any time. If you need to—”
“No, sir,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Work helps.”
“All right,” Murphy said. “But please remember, you’re not alone. We’re here for what you need. It’s dangerous to bottle up grief.”
Her smile grew, even as she willed her eyes not to fill. “Yes, sir; that’s good advice.” When she was sure they would not spill over, she added, “Seems like I’ve heard those words somewhere before.”
* * * * *
Chapter Fifty-Three
Spin One
“Welcome, Major Murphy…or would you prefer the title Sko’Belm?”
Murphy made the small bow that polite appreciation of the offer required. “I shall remain ‘Major,’ Primus Otlethes. You honor me, but my title is part of my duty and oath as an officer.”
Anseker nodded. “I understand. That is why I perceived that it would be incorrect to offer to address you as ‘Primus;’ you lack the requisite autonomy. Sko’Belm simply signifies that in this place, you are the highest-ranking leader of your people.”
Murphy managed not to grit his teeth; he had little taste for titles and less for what felt like tribal chest-thumping. “The Primus honors me by indirectly putting his offer before me yet again, but my title is defined by the government to which I have sworn fealty. I cannot take another.”
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